


"You really think I didn't know?" (3)

by FreddieFcknMercury



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Angst, Beardy Cap, Black Character, Black Reader, Crying, Depression, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderfluid Character, Guilt, Hurt, Joseph Rogers - Freeform, Lonliness, M/M, Mention of Death, Money, Natural Hair, Other, Post Infinity War, Secrets, Some Fluff, Some Humor, alluding to death, cap - Freeform, curls, cursing, genderless reader, its lit, post snap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 09:18:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreddieFcknMercury/pseuds/FreddieFcknMercury
Summary: Steve is leaving to try and fix the universe. You're not prepared for it yet.





	"You really think I didn't know?" (3)

**Author's Note:**

> The final instalment until A4. Unless I get a request for either of these characters in this au.

It's weird to watch him scatter around like this. Frantic. Like when you're packing for a big trip and don't want to forget the cord to your phone. Initially you wanted to help him prepare but now you're just sitting on the couch trying to stay out of his way while he goes over whatever mental checklist he's working through. 

You used to trip over each other all the time in the beginning; both too polite and just trying to give the other their own space. Accidentally smacking into him was like running into the side of a mountain at full speed. It stung like hell over your whole body, plus you can't deal with the incessant apologising. Now, though, if you didn't brush against each other at least 20 times a day did you really even see him at all? 

He'd never admit it if you were to ask him, but he's obviously trying to avoid eye contact. Can't blame him. Maybe if he doesn't look at you it won't hurt as much when he finally leaves. It's weird thinking this could be the last time you see him. You just got him. The two of you just got this close. How much is this going to hurt later? It's almost weirder thinking he'll be right back. He's still going to be Captain America and you're demanding he pay rent.

He starts scanning the room for something. You know exactly what it is, he does it a lot for a super soldier. He must've let his mind get clouded. Feeling pockets. Visibly retracing steps. It's taking longer than you thought it would this time.

 

"Phone is on the counter by the coffee pot." He breezes over and sure enough there it is, plugged into the wall charging. He took a long look down at the counter before finally finding the courage to look at you for the first time in the last 30 minutes. 

 

"Thanks." There's something more he wants to say; it's all over his face, but it's nothing you need to hear yet. He starts scattering again. After a while he slows down. There's an ever so brief glance in your direction then he dips in the closet, under the safe, and beneath a lose floor board. There's a crevice you didn't know was there until he lifts it and pulls out a small gym bag. Quickly ducking into his bedroom with it.

His door is directly across from yours. It's always closed though. Sometimes you'd stare at it in your mirror trying to think of reasons to knock just to have an excuse to look at him. You've only been in there once, just to deliver some mail, and it almost broke your heart. Dozens of beautiful and silly drawings strewn accross his desk and a sketch pad on his night stand. You thought about buying him some nice pencils for Christmas. They could almost distract you from just how empty and cold the rest of the room is. Aside from a bed and a record player there's almost nothing homey about it at all. There's just enough of something to make it comfortable, liveable, but not enough to miss it if he suddenly needed to leave. Like now.

You hear his door open and see the light switch off. He hasn't moved from the door frame yet though. Is he scared? Steve Rogers is scared... of you? He takes small light steps back into the front room. He's changed into his "uniform." That must've been what was in the bag. The stars are torn off his chest and the red has turned almost black, but it's unmistakable. There's something imposing, almost mean about it though. When you thought of Captain America before, all that comes to mind are explosions of rich bright colors and "freedom." But now, with this... this just feels hurt.

 

You have no idea how the expression on your face reads but it makes him shift uncomfortably. 

"I'm sorry. I never wanted you to see..." he trails off running a hand through dark golden locs and rubbing the back of his neck. Hes annoyed; upset that he has to show you this, that you had to see him like this. It's sad but, he looks good. "Joseph" was sweet and quiet. He reminded you of a flannel blanket you might keep on the back of the couch. Always there, warm and comforting. Not that you didn't think Joseph couldn't defend either of you if he needed to, he's huge and can handle himself. Steve, though, Steve looks like he could kick some real ass. 

 

"I've seen Cap before." You're trying to reassure him but you're not convinced that's how it came out. The two of you stare in each other's general direction for almost too long before he gets a sudden realisation and dips back into his bedroom. He comes out and drops a different duffel bag at your feet. It slams into the floor with a heavy thud. He gestures towards it, face serious.

 

"For you. Just in case." You uncross your legs slowly and bend to pull the zipper on the bag. Money. There's at least 100K in here. You're kind of horrified and still just a bit confused when you look up to read him. "Just in case." He repeats, voice a husky whisper.

 

I don't come back.  That's what he wants to say. At least that's what the rest of that sentence really is anyway. What you both know he means. This is for you to pay rent and eat just in case I don't come back. You don't want to take it but he's not gonna let you decline. He doesn't want his trying to be a hero inadvertently kill you.

"And you only bought four cartons of ice cream?" He drops his head, a shy smile on his face. He carries the bag into your bedroom, you asume he has a hiding place in there too.

"I suppose you're all set then." You get up and meet him half way accross the room smoothing your hands down into your back pockets.

 

"Just about." His jaw is clenched. This is hurting him too, you can see it now. "...Is it weird?"

 

"Which part?" He finally meets your gaze. His eyes are watery. It looks like he's almost ready to cry, that makes your throat dry up.

 

"Having a superheroin your living room." He wants to lighten the mood, try to find some humour. He's witty when he wants to be, it's a lot of why you like him. 

 

You shrug, "No, no not really." He cocks an eyebrow at you with the tiniest of smirks. You gesture vaguely at the front door, nodding. "Y'know... Ironman was just here so. It's lit."

He laughs. It's soft and and short but he laughs. A real laugh with a real smile flashing all those pearly whites for the first time since dinner. He steps forward and presses his forehead against yours, nuzzling into you gently. You can feel his large steady breaths.

"If you die I'm gonna be really pissed." 

 

"Mmm." He presses a kiss against your forehead while slowly sliding his hands up the back of your neck into the thick of your hair, gently massaging your scalp with the pads of his fingers. All those nights of natural hair gurus turned up too loud in the bathroom finally paid off something, even if you still have zero definition. You press into his chest gently; suggesting him backwards, leading him towards his bedroom door. You wonder if you could get into his pants again. He'd probably let you. You've kept him this long already right? Then you'd just end up missing him more and you're already on the edge of a breakdown.

 

"Lay with me. Until I fall sleep." You're not asking and to be honest it's the least he can do. He reaches behind himself to open it. He's cleaned up everything already, not that there was much to do. It's just as cold as you thought it would be. No drawings. No music. Just a place some guy used to sleep. 

You crawl into bed and he pulls you into him. Just as warm as always, but this uniform is uncomfortable as fuck. It smells like metal, smoke, and a list of places you've never been. There's a buckle slightly digging into your shoulder but you can't care. This is exactly where you want to be even if it only lasts another hour. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

A car alarm just up the street wakes you up. You roll onto your side to look at the clock on the night stand: 9:53. You immediately feel the hole. He's long gone by now. No chasing after him. You're trying to decide if he really is just incredibly stealthy or if your body decided that last night would be the first time in months you'd sleep heavy and undisturbed. You could cry, that's the next logical step, but there's something just under your skin telling you not to. At least not yet. 

You get up to make breakfast when you notice the card taped to the back of the door. You grab it but stare blankly into the void. Sitting at his desk flipping it back and forth between your hands for a good 10 minutes. You almost don't read it. You can't be told goodbye, it wouldn't be fair. It's a shitty Steve move he'd try and pull though. There's some crumpled pieces of paper in the waste basket. He tried writing this a few times. Do not fucking cry. You don't know if it's courage or fear that finally made you open it.

 

 

_Don't let me hurt you._

_Know when to run._

_Eat ice cream every day._

_Please pet the cats._  

 

 

 

There's a huge knot of stress forming on the back of your neck but you're not gonna cry. That wasn't so bad. You hate to admit it and you never would, but that note will probably go with you everywhere. Just until he gets back. Your stomach starts talking to you, sleeping in and stressing out aren't great for running on empty. Walking into the kitchen you get stopped short. That sentimental asshole left you two gifts. What was probably a nice warm homemade breakfast of pancakes, that is now cold. And a t-shirt, folded and placed neatly on the counter right under your phone. Right where you can see it. All it says is "Brooklyn." You think it's new, you've never seen him wear it at least. You can smell him as soon as you pick it up. Jerk. It's like he soaked it in Steve before he left. You thought maybe you could hold back the tears another few days, a week if you really really wanted to. You lasted 20 minutes.

You preheat the oven to warm your pancakes and slip his shirt-your shirt-over your head. Plopping yourself up on the counter. You just let the tears roll down your face. Why fight it? No whining. No sobbing. Just tears as you replay the events from the last day over in your mind. Wishing you gave into every impulse "just in case." Hating yourself for not believing in him enough to know he's coming back. He's fucking Captain America... You chuckle lightly to yourself.

"You really thought I didn't know..."

 


End file.
